


A Minor Infestation

by plothound



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Belly Kink, Birth, Corruption, Demon Sex, Demons, Fantasy Catholicism, Fantasy Christianity, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Implied/Referenced Violence, Inflation, Kinda, M/M, Mpreg, Oviposition, Priest Kink, Priests, Religion, Rituals, Sex Pollen, Violence, also kinda - Freeform, and again kinda, sigh... kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 05:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21314998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: In a medieval fantasy world where demonic infestations are common, a traveling priest and a simple mercenary come to deal with a routine infestation and are met with horror beyond their imagining.
Comments: 24
Kudos: 182





	A Minor Infestation

Father Erding was about the last person in the world that Hew wanted to spend a week with, but it wasn’t as if he had much choice. The old man—okay, he wasn’t  _ that  _ old, maybe in his late forties—was tall and sinewy, with eyes like ice and the lean, hard muscles of a wild animal, not to mention all the sympathy and personality of a stone. But Hew had signed the contract, and he would abide by it. 

If the local guard was right, then the job should be pretty easy, really. The reason it would take so long was mostly travel time, plus a day and a night for the usual cleansing rite. The village was way the hell out in the wilderness, and its chapel was a little distance beyond that. The contract was for a Biter infestation. Pretty standard stuff, really, but not something that a little village like that would be equipped to deal with. No, best bring in a professional. Hew wasn’t ordained himself, obviously, but no priest worth his salt would go into an infestation alone, so guards were needed. That was where Hew came in, along with his sword.

To be honest, though, Father Erding didn’t really look like he needed a guard. The man was a bit skinny, yeah, but the long priest’s knife that hung at his side, though it looked demure enough in its traditional black sheath, had clearly seen plenty of use. Still, Hew respected a man with caution. Even if he wouldn’t make any conversation.

Hew knew something was wrong the moment they entered the village, and it was clear that Father Erding did, too. It was dead silent. No people, no animals, no breeze. The streets were clean and clear, which was a bit of a relief—whatever had happened, the residents had had time to get inside with their things, at the very least. Perhaps they had even fled. 

“Pub?” Hew asked softly. He kept a hand on the hilt of his sword. He’d felt this before, this particular breed of tense foreboding, and he knew that it meant an infestation had really taken hold. Demons liked their prey jumpy, on edge.

Father Erding was already heading for the half-timber pub in the center of town. He drew no weapon, no shield, nothing to guard him against whatever was here with them, and Hew didn’t know whether to fault him or admire him for it. He pushed the door to the pub open and stepped inside. Hew followed.

It was the same in there. Empty, but clean, like whoever had been in here last had cleaned up the place before they left. No fire in the hearth, which meant that whatever had happened had been at least a day ago. Hew crouched by the grate, swept a finger through the ash, and sniffed it. “Two or three days.”

Father Erding nodded. “The chapel.” He turned and swept out of the pub, his plain black vestments trailing behind him. 

Hew felt his stomach go cold, but he followed. The priest was probably right, of course—demons liked no lair better than a holy place with its defenses down. Whatever kind of infestation they were looking at, that would be the heart of it. Still, Hew would have liked a thorough search of the village first, maybe a hot meal and drink at the empty pub—he could cook well enough. That would steel him some. But Father Erding clearly had two or three more decades experience with demons than he did, and the fact that he was still alive said a lot. Priests, especially traveling ones, overwhelmingly died young. Perhaps it was better to face a demon quickly, before the mental effects of their presence set in too deeply. 

Hew had expected to feel better outside of the village, but instead, the feeling got worse. His stomach knotted unpleasantly, and he had the constant sensation that something was behind him. Both were standard demon fare, and pretty easy for him to shake off. They still bothered him, of course, but knowing that it was a demon trying to frighten him made it easier to ignore.

But the feelings kept getting stronger, and by the time they came round a bend in the dusty lane and stood at the entrance to the churchyard, Hew was feeling quite ill. “It’s not Biters,” he said. “Or if it is, it’s a hell of a lot of them.”

“Language,” Father Erding said. He slipped a lengthy rosary from its place on his belt, crouched, and pressed it gently to the gatepost. He frowned, then did the same to the other post. Then he shook his head and straightened up. “The defenses are badly damaged,” he said, his voice just as calm and sharp as ever. “They will likely need to be recast entirely.”

“That bad?” Hew said, startled. “Should we get help?”

“No,” the priest said, tucking the rosary back into his belt. “Whatever has made this holy place its nest is growing stronger by the hour. If we leave it long enough to gather more exorcists, it will likely spread. I doubt we will be able to cast it out by ourselves, but we should be able to identify the infestation and establish a containment that will hold for a few days. That will be enough time to retrieve a more appropriate force.” He lifted the latch on the gate and stepped through, and Hew followed reluctantly.

The energy in the chapel grounds, even just on the path, was foul enough that Hew lurched as he passed through the gate. He shut it behind him hurriedly, and turned around in time to see that Father Erding had already collected himself and was making his slow, steady way down the path. Hew took a moment to steady himself on the gatepost, taking deep breaths, before following.

When they reached the little stone chapel’s door, Father Erding turned aside to the low wall along the path and took off his pack. Hew took the opportunity to scan the grounds. The churchyard was small, with the grave markers mostly simple wooden constructions, but it looked very old, and there was a sacred olive growing in a corner. Not many churches in this northerly clime could boast even an olive sapling, and this one was old and wizened, with a thick trunk and flourishing limbs. That was at once a good sign and a bad one; whatever was infesting the chapel had overcome the tree’s protection, which was frightening, but the tree was still alive and healthy, which meant that the infestation did not yet have the strength to confront it directly. On the other side of the churchyard was a small spring, carefully tended and still gently bubbling with clear water, another good sign.

There was a sharp rasp, and Hew was already drawing his sword and spinning to face it when he recognized it as a striking flint. Father Erding was lighting his censer. He raised a single eyebrow at Hew, but ensured the charcoal was burning, replaced the crucible lid, poured out a bit of resinous incense on the lid, made the sign of the cross, murmured a few words, and closed up the thurible before he said, “Frankincense with a touch of olive oil. A powerful protective aroma, and good for the nerves. When was your sword last sanctified?”

Hew had to think about that for a moment, and not just because the demonic energy in the churchyard was fogging his mind. “Two years ago.”

Father Erding didn’t shake his head and cluck his tongue, but he might as well have for the embarrassment Hew felt. The priest held out a hand, and Hew hurriedly knelt and offered the hilt. Father Erding took the blade—Hew couldn’t help but notice the practiced ease with which that hand flipped the handle so that the point faced the sky—held it steady, swung the thurible slowly over it in the pattern of the cross, and said a prayer in the language of the priests. He presented it in the ceremonial style, and Hew received it reverently. He did feel better, really. Cleaner. It might just have been the protective incense lingering on the blade—now that the sweet-smelling smoke was starting to waft out properly, he was beginning to regain some of his usual clarity of thought—but he thought he could feel something in the hand that held the sword, a sort of reassuring warmth. Maybe.

Then the moment was over, and Father Erding pulled him to his feet. “Are you ready?”

There was no question whatsoever about whether the priest was ready, that much was written all over the stern, lined face, but Hew wasn’t an old campaigner like this man, and he took a few seconds to gather himself before he nodded. The weight of the sword in his hand was comforting.

Father Erding opened the door to the chapel.

Hew nearly fell over. The foul aura inside was that strong. It was a few breaths before he could stumble inside after the priest, and, to his shame, it was the priest that turned around and closed the door. That was his job, damn it, watch their back, keep the way back safe while the priest forged ahead, and he couldn’t even do that, useless, useless, useless, stupid, useless mortal, should just  _ die—  _

The thurible swung, heavy and slow, in the hot, wet air, and Hew snatched his thoughts back. Whatever was in here was deadly powerful, to catch him that fast. It wasn’t as if Hew’s mind was particularly strong or well-trained, but he doubted that even a hundred Biters could mire him in a thought trap that quickly, especially with a protective incense this strong. Then he took in his surroundings, and suddenly realized that he had never been in greater danger than he was at this moment. 

The air inside the chapel was disgustingly hot and humid, and everything was dark and tinted red. For a moment, Hew was terrified that the unthinkable had happened: a true portal to Hell itself, opened up at last, and inside a church at that, the evil atmosphere leaking into the world, but then he saw that the windows were covered with something fleshy. Sacs, he realized, pulsating sacs of various sizes, from a fingernail to twice the size of a human head, lumped together like fish eggs, translucent, webbed with veins. They were dripping a thick, gelatinous fluid that seemed to glue them to the glass. They covered the narrow windows along the chapel sides, but the greatest mass of them was at the back of the chapel, behind the altar, where they covered the rose window in a huge, throbbing mass, like a vast animal organ. The slime coming off of that was like a slow waterfall, soaking the altar cloth below.

The pews had all been thrown to the walls by something far stronger than a man. Many had broken, and scattered pieces of wood littered the stone floor. Candle racks, hangings, books, shelves, all had been flung aside. Even the runner down the aisle had been yanked up and shredded.

Father Erding strode inward. His pace was slow and measured, perfectly steady, and there was only a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, where Hew was already dripping with it. The thurible swung gently in front of him, casting its sacred smoke throughout the defiled sanctum. The priest’s other hand was behind his back in the traditional pose, not even bothering to draw his knife. The sight filled Hew with admiration, and he suddenly felt safe, really safe, even in this hellhole.

Something stirred up at the altar. At first Hew thought it was the lectern, maybe something falling from it, but then it kept going, up and up and up, until he realized that it was a demon, a monstrosity nearly twice the height of a man. An array of vast, curling horns were silhouetted against the fell light of the covered rose window.

Father Erding stopped in the middle of the chapel. “Name yourself,” he said, and his voice was just as steady and powerful as it always was.

The laughter that boomed from the altar was deep and mocking. “Name  _ your  _ self, mortal.” When the demon’s mouth opened to speak, a bright light shone from within it, the light of a great and terrible forge.

“My name is my own,” the priest said. He sounded  _ unimpressed,  _ and Hew’s awe of him doubled. “You have no ownership of yours. You gave that up, demon, when you swore service to Hell. The light of God commands that you tell me your name.”

The demon snorted. It shifted in the darkness beneath the window, and Hew caught a glimpse of the outline of vast, leathery wings. “The only power that commands my name from me is yours, mortal, and my power outstrips that by leagues. But I’ll give you my rank, because it suits me, and doesn’t suit you:  _ malfear.”  _

That sense of safety that Hew had from Father Erding’s presence ebbed, and ebbed drastically.  _ Malfear!  _ Malfears of fire and blood and flesh, of Hell’s darkest reaches, rulers of its greatest fastnesses, counters of sins, eaters of the damned, commanders of abyssal armies! The last one had broken out of Hell some two hundred years ago, and taken half a city with it when fifty priests together at last managed to banish it. And here they were, one priest and one simple mercenary, they were dead and damned already.

“You have some touch of skill, priest,” the demon said, “but you, little one, I hear your thoughts without turning my ear to them. And they are true, those thoughts. I am a malfear, and neither of you can hope to stand against me. I will eat you.”

“He is under my protection, malfear,” Father Erding said sternly, as if he were rebuking an unruly drunk on the street. “And my protection is God’s protection. You will not touch him.”

“Your protection is air!” the demon boomed. “Air and a bit of smoke! The friar opposed me with as much, and he is eaten! I spit on your protection!” And it did. It spat a great gob of liquid fire at Father Erding’s feet.

Father Erding looked at the burning slime on the stone before him and wrinkled his nose. He held the thurible aloft and gave it three slow swings. “Your spit is only spit, malfear.” He swung the thurible twice more, and the fire suddenly went out, leaving only a puddle of oily liquid. Father Erding stepped around it, gingerly but disdainfully, as if it were manure. “I demand your name.”

The malfear spread its wings and drew itself up, seeming to grow hugely. It was more in the light now, and Hew saw that it was huge with muscle, but malformed and inhuman, and dripping with more slime. “You have no right to my name, mortal. But I’ll have yours, whether you will it or no.” It raised its head, and Hew realized with a start that it was looking past Erding, at  _ him,  _ with flaming eyes. “Little one! Hear me and obey!”

“No,” Father Erding said. He swung the thurible again. Pale, sweet smoke caught the light as it rose to the ceiling. “In the name of God, I call upon the powers of light to protect this man. He is a servant of God, and evil has no power over him.”

The malfear’s wings beat once, and a cloud of thick, wet air, rank with a foul stench, swept over Hew. Behind it on the rose window, and along every wall, the pulsating sacs all throbbed with it, in a great, heavy, thumping beat like a heart. “Evil has every power over him. I can hear his thoughts from here, mortal, skittering around his skull like so many insects. They are all of fear, and I have dominion over fear.”

“Do not be afraid, my son,” Father Erding said. His voice was nothing like the gentle, trembly old voice of the minister that Hew remembered from his childhood, but it filled him with hope regardless. “God protects you through me.” He began to speak in the language of the priests, and on the altar, which now seemed small and distant, the malfear recoiled. The light seemed brighter, now, less red.

Hew couldn’t help himself. He smiled. It was all going to be all right. God was here now, he felt, through the priest’s incantations. He was going to be safe. He only hoped that Father Erding would be safe as well. Well, he didn’t know the language of the priests, but perhaps God would hear a small prayer anyway, since He was already listening. “God protect you and all your works, Father Erding,” he said beatifically.

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, even before the spasm passed over the priest’s face, Hew knew what he had done. The feeling of light and comfort that Father Erding’s words had filled him with fled instantly, and the chapel grew dark again, and then darker still, the air redder, hotter, wetter. The sacs coating the windows throbbed again, and a few huge globs of slime spattered on the floor as they were shaken loose.

The demon’s scream of laughter echoed through the chapel, seeming far too large for the small building, and it lunged.  _ “Father Erding!” _ Father Erding drew his knife with his free hand, but the demon was already on him, shrieking his name, ripping the thurible from his grasp and smashing it on the floor as if it were made of glass. Sweet smoke still drifted from the charcoal, but the demon stomped on it with one bird-taloned foot and put it out, hissing as if in pain. 

Father Erding struck like a snake, or, more accurately, a practiced knife fighter. Hew had only a bit of formal training with a sword, but he’d seen enough fights to know skill when he saw it. The priest was balanced on the balls of his feet, his black vestment sweeping at the debris on the floor, and his cuts were swift, but measured and precise. He dodged the swipes of the demon’s claws well, and it was only several seconds in that Hew realized that he should be helping.

He barged in, sword swinging, and ran into Father Erding. He tripped over the priest’s foot and crashed straight into the demon.

The touch was horrifying. It was wet and disgustingly soft, and it stuck to his skin, but it also filled him with a sheer mad horror that he had never felt before. There was no demon, no nightmare, no terror he had ever faced that felt like this. The malfear’s roar split through his bones like broken glass, rang in his ears, sunk wet and black into his veins. He keeled over and emptied his stomach on the floor. Something hard made firm, painful contact with his backside and shoved him away.

When he got his eyes back in focus, Father Erding was lying flat on his back in the middle of the chapel, his eyes closed, knife cast uselessly aside. The demon crouched on the altar. Its arms bled thick blood that glowed like molten metal from several long, thin wounds, but its horrible skeletal face was twisted up in a smile. “Good work, little one,” it breathed. A line of that glowing blood dripped out from between two of its teeth and slowly cooled to black when exposed to the air. “Good work. I have you, Father Erding.”

Hew dragged himself backward. His hands were black and sticky, like they had been dipped in tar, only it cracked in places, and blood leaked out, and he had the horrible feeling that the black was his skin. His breastplate, cheap iron, was bubbly and misshapen where it had touched the demon. His sword was smoking, and parts of the blade seemed to be disintegrating as he watched. He took it in hand—he felt very little with his fingers—and pulled himself away, away, behind the ruins of a pew, where he curled up and whined. He watched the demon and its prey out of the corner of his eye, trembling.

“Do you know my duties, Father Erding?” the malfear asked. Its voice was soft, now. “I know you are awake. Your mind is weakened. Do you know what I do? What we do?”

“You are the consumer,” the priest rasped. “You gorge on the souls of the damned. A dishonorable task, malfear.”

“Dishonorable?” The demon put on an offended tone, but its voice was so thoroughly suffused with smugness that it made little difference. “No, no. If we only ate for ourselves, certainly, then we would be wasteful indeed. But we do not.”

Father Erding snorted. He seemed to be regaining himself somewhat. He did not open his eyes, but he turned his head, and one arm shifted slowly, painfully. “If you think I’ll do you the courtesy of inquiring further, malfear, you have another thing coming.” The moving arm made it to the rosary at his belt and clutched it gently, pulling it to his chest. “I do not treat with servants of Hell.”

The demon laughed, a screaming laugh that was loud enough for Hew to clap his hands over his ears, and had Father Erding grimacing. “You think that matters now? It’s not your decision any longer, Father Erding! And your little amulet won’t help you, either. Your body is weak, now, and your mind weak in turn. It is all the foothold I need, priestling.” 

Father Erding shook his head slowly. He did not respond, but pressed the rosary to his lips and began to murmur softly.

The demon spat. The liquid fire landed on the stone of the altar floor, and dripped thickly down the steps. “As you wish, mortal.” It shuffled its wings. “Malfear breed demons, Father Erding. That is why we are the eaters. We feed upon the damned so that we may spawn. And do you know how demons spawn?”

The priest continued to ignore the demon. He finished a decade of his rosary and moved on to the next. His hands were trembling a little.

“Our very own form of immaculate conception, priest,” the demon grumbled, audibly perturbed. “What better way to mock your god? His most precious gift to you was his son, delivered by a virgin, no? Malfear can do better. We bring all of your sins into your physical world, turn the immaterial into the material. And then you give birth to them, priest. Every sinner in the world, man, woman, child, and everything in between, all of them come to the malfear in the end, and deliver sin made flesh.” It swept a hand around the chapel. “Every precious tumor here is born of the collected sin of a human being, all gathered and delivered in this building, my beautiful new nest.” It squeezed a sac on the rose window, a little larger than a fist, until Hew thought it would burst. “This is the friar’s firstborn, priest. How will yours compare? What manner of demon will you create?” 

Father Erding continued to say his rosary.

The demon snarled in disgust. “As you like it, then.” It jumped down from the altar, landing with a heavy thump that sent dust swirling in the wet air, and strode forward to stand before the priest. “Give me your sin, mortal!” Its hand clawed the air and squeezed.

At first there was no response. Hew watched in terrified suspense as the priest continued to mouth the words of his prayers. Then the demon laughed. “Ha! I feel your sin, priest, and I draw it to me. Come into this realm, sin. Grow!” It clenched a horrible fist.

Father Erding shuddered, and the arm clutching his rosary spasmed. He let out a choked kind of gasp, and the sweat on his forehead began to drip, but he returned to his rosary.

“Ah,” the demon sighed. “I can feel it beginning, priest. Can you? It is very small, still, for now. Only you know how great it will grow. What sort of underling will you grant me? A Flea, like an innocent child? Or something larger? Will we draw a Biter from your womb? A Drainer?”

The priest’s face screwed up in a pained grimace, but he continued to pray. 

“It draws from me, Father Erding,” the demon said. It crouched by his feet. “It is well that I have feasted upon this village. It would not do to be too tired after I finish with you. The eggs must be protected until they hatch, after all, and I have already had to feed the sin of a murderer.”

Father Erding made a sound. Hew couldn’t place it. Then it came again, and again, and again, and he realized that the priest was laughing, a choking, wheezing kind of laugh.

“What?” the demon growled. “What is it, mortal? Do you mock me?”

The priest groaned and clutched his stomach, then laughed again. “It takes  _ your  _ energy, malfear, to spawn? And you’ve wasted it on—on these  _ villagers?”  _ His laugh cut off again, and his back arched, lifting his hips off the stone before he dropped back with a sharp, pained moan. “You’ve made a mistake, malfear.” Then he clutched the rosary to his lips with both hands, and though his body twitched and spasmed, he gave no cry, only the occasional muffled grunt.

The demon seemed, for the first time, a little off balance. Then it laughed. “You cannot intimidate me, mortal. Even if you were the foulest of sinners, no one is coming, not until it is far too late. By the time anyone comes after you, I will have a new brood.”

The priest did not respond, and for a while, the only sounds in the chapel were the constant pulsing of the sacs, Hew’s panicked breathing, Father Erding’s painful gasps, and the demon’s slow, steady, growling breaths.

“It grows,” the demon said. “Ha! It does grow!” It flicked the priest’s stomach with an eagle’s foot, and the priest writhed as if he had been stabbed, a muffled groan escaping him. “Better than a Flea, mortal. No Biter, maybe, but perhaps you’ll squeeze a Whiner out of your cunt.” Hew looked closely, and whined softly when he saw a slight bulge, low in Father Erding’s belly. He thought he was imagining it, and then it grew a little larger. The demon rested its foot on the bump. “Your sin swells. Think of how it will feel to push it out. What is it made of, Father Erding? Not gluttony, clearly.”

The air was changing. It was a little redder, now, a little darker, and as hot and wet as a teakettle. Hew wiped the sweat from his brow, but it was like trying to dry off underwater. And… everything smelled like flesh, like the irregularly twitching sacs, but the smell was not as off-putting as it had been. It was almost… pleasing, in an overwhelming sort of way. As if Hew could grow accustomed to it. There was a deep fear in his chest, not just of whatever the demon would do to him, of what his own sin would feel like growing inside of him, but of his surroundings. The air he breathed seemed tainted. Was it infecting him?

“More sin, priest?” The demon sounded entertained. “It grows within you yet. You are foul, for a holy man. This one will hurt coming out.” It paused. Then it roared with laughter. “Ah, and a new sin! This one is rare, priest, in these circumstances, but you bear it.  _ Pleasure!  _ You  _ enjoy  _ this!” It prodded Father Erding’s groin, and Hew was shocked to see a bulge there, tenting the vestments. “What a delight! This one will take some probing.” It reached out with a clawed hand and squeezed the priest there. “Pitiful little human cock! I will see it in full.” It shoved up the long skirt of the black coat and ripped open the black trousers. A cock sprung out and slapped back against the coat, looking hard as a rock, painfully hard. The demon sat back on its haunches and shrieked its mirth.

Something clenched in Hew’s gut. Something about the sight… He shook his head mutely. Poor Father Erding. The demon was affecting them.

The demon straightened up. “This is what a real cock looks like, human.” It spread its legs, and something began to protrude from a hidden slit on its pelvis. It was mottled red and black, and as it eased out, a little at a time, it thickened and pulsed. It went on and on, until Hew cowered further back behind his pew, and still it grew, and so did the heat in his groin. By the time the demon’s cock touched Father Erding’s thigh, hanging a good four feet out from its sheath in a heavy arch, obscene and ridiculous and laughable and terrifying, Hew was straining against his breeches. That could not be real. Some demonic illusion. Nothing could have a cock nearly as long as its own leg. The demon moved its hips, and the vast cock drew a pendulum arc across Father Erding’s balls. The priest trembled, and his cock jumped.

“Ha!” The demon flexed something, and the jump of its monstrous cock put the priest’s to shame, the tip swinging a good six inches upward before dropping back down. “You enjoy that touch, Father Erding? Enjoy the sight of a cock fit to spear you through and through? Not common in your kind, priest. That’s a lustful sin growing in your womb, is it not? What did you do? How many times did you break celibacy for a belly of that size?”

It was hard to tell through the black coat of Father Erding’s vestments, but the bulge that smoothed the fabric there appeared to be about the size of a fist, which meant that there was likely more than that beneath the surface. Hew shuddered at the thought. He couldn’t imagine what it might feel like, to have something huge and alien inside. And to know that it was a demon in the making! Truly, the malfear was right. There was no fouler way to mock Heaven. Satan was ingenious to have devised this torment. 

The malfear stepped forward until its taloned bird-feet were on either side of Father Erding’s hips. The tip of its cock nudged a long-fingered hand, and the priest’s face twisted up in a grimace, but he gave no protest. The demon chuckled and began to gently push and pull, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, the absurd, flattened, blocky cockhead squishing audibly, leaving behind a sloppy trail of thick fluid that steamed gently as it ran down the priest’s wrists. With every slow, easy push, its cock grew a little thicker, a little stiffer.

Father Erding’s vestments were starting to look a little strained at the base of his belly, but his face looked much worse. Even under the dim red light of the chapel, his skin appeared pale and gray, and it shone with sweat. His graying dark hair, combed back from his forehead, looked wet. A damp patch was growing on his chest, where the malfear’s slime dripped off of his hands, and his hooked nose was wrinkled up, as if it smelled foul. But his cock… still tall and flushed, as hard as any Hew had ever seen. 

“Still growing,” the demon said, sounding pleased as well as amused. It pushed down on the top of its cock with a terrible clawed hand, so that the head oozed slime down the priest’s torso and pressed into the bulge. That was… two fists, now, surely, obvious on a man as thin as Father Erding, and Hew thought he could see it grow, the tough wool weave stretch. The growing wetness from the cock made it shine. It was… pretty, in a way. But Hew couldn’t keep his eyes from the priest’s cock for long. Now  _ that  _ was pretty. It was of a size with his own, so he thought he knew how it would feel in his hand, only the priest had been cut and he hadn’t. Hew had never touched a cut cock before. How different would it be? Shit, what was he  _ thinking?  _ This had to be a mind trap, a different kind. But the demon was still talking.

“Keep going like this, and perhaps you will give me a Biter,” it said. It pushed its cock firmly against the bulge of Father Erding’s belly, and the priest shuddered, but his lips still moved in the uninterrupted rosary. “Your sin is not yet exhausted, I deem. A traveling priest, bearer of more sin than a simple country friar? Who would have thought, Father Erding?” It lifted its cock with one hand, gripping it by the middle and raising it almost to chest height, though the head drooped far lower with its own weight, despite its growing hardness, and dropped it. It landed with a thump across the bulge. The priest lurched with a grunt of pain, and the demon laughed. “Regret it now, don’t you, whatever it was? Sin is so much easier to live with when you don’t carry it with you. But it’s there now, Father Erding, and it grows fatter by the moment.  _ Look  _ at what you’re making.”

The coat of the vestment was beginning to show real signs of strain. The buttons, a neat row of them down the left side of the chest and extending past the hips, were tugging over the priest’s belly, which now stood out a little more than a hand’s width. Hew could see the coat’s white lining through the stretching buttonholes, and a little bit of a black shirt underneath. That had to hurt. To be suffering through demonic torture, with something horrible growing inside you, and to be trapped in too-tight clothing so that you hurt on the inside and on the outside… And yet, it couldn’t be that awful. Hew palmed his groin without thinking. What about it might be pleasurable, let alone pleasurable enough to be that hard? To be like that, in spite of the fear and the pain… it had to feel good somehow. He tried to imagine it as a source of pleasure, like having a warm belly after being hungry for a long time. Only that wasn’t really a lusty sort of pleasure.

Maybe it was like a pregnancy. Hew had heard that pregnant women, when they weren’t dealing with the pain and illness, could be positively voracious in their sexual appetites. And there was something appealling about them, too, something about a round belly and full, milky tits. Hew had lain with a pregnant woman once, through a long and complicated series of missteps, and it had been excellent. He’d come far too quickly, but she’d sat on his hips, supporting her belly with one hand and steadying herself with the other while she rode him, and he’d sucked her tits afterward. She’d certainly enjoyed herself. Now that… that, Hew imagined, could feel good. To be full like that. Was that what Father Erding was feeling? He didn’t have the milky tits, but that belly was still swelling under his cruelly confining vestments. Did it feel warm in there? Heavy?

_ Stop it!  _ Hew shook his head violently, and was horrified to find that his cock was out of his breeches and in his hand, where he was stroking it absently, rubbing the skin over the head. He forced himself to let go, though he couldn’t quite bring himself to tuck it away again, and lay there behind the pew, peering under it at poor suffering Father Erding. He tore his gaze away for a moment, trying to collect himself, and found himself looking at the wall, where a window covered with fleshy sacs pulsed at him. They were slimy and dripping and disgusting, but he also felt an odd urge to touch them. What did they feel like? They weren’t all throbbing quite in time, but it was close. The goo that held them together in a great shining mass was quite thick. Perhaps he could get his cock in there, or even between a couple of the sacs. He could imagine that clearly, rutting between those wet sacs, goo splattering everywhere. He’d smear it all over himself.

_ No! No! No!  _ Hew rolled over onto his belly, pinning his cock against the stone floor, and focused hard on Father Erding’s tortured face. He looked ill, the poor man, still that horrible gray color, and his hands were shaking something awful as his fingers slipped along the rosary beads and his lips moved constantly in the muttered prayer. 

There was a small tearing sound, followed by a quiet clatter of metal on stone, and Hew looked for the source. He found it at Father Erding’s belly, now  _ huge,  _ grown to the size of a man’s head, where a button had given out. The little bit of iron was lying on the floor off to the side. A few threads remained where it had been fastened. More importantly, the thinner fabric of the priest’s black shirt was showing, and more importantly still, the bulge was even larger than Hew had thought. The coat was truly sturdy, and was doing a magnificent job of containment. At the gap where the button had failed, the mound was sticking out noticeably further. The buttons to either side of the gap were clearly on the verge of failure, but were still holding on resolutely. 

_ Give,  _ Hew pleaded mentally. The vestments were no longer doing anything for the priest’s modesty, and had to be making the pain worse. There was a slow ripping, and for a moment, he thought his wish had come true, but then he realized that it was a seam on the side of the coat giving a little, and only the outer seam at that—the lining was still holding strong. It couldn’t for much longer, though, surely. The wool was the tough part of the coat. The lining was probably a thin, tightly woven linen, easy to tear. It had to give out soon.

Another button snapped free. It bounced off of the priest’s belly, and he flinched even from that slight impact. There were now two gaps, a single button between them, and the bulge seemed to be trying to squeeze through them. Hew watched in morbid fascination. The pressure had to be immense. He could hear the fabric creak from here. As he watched, it swelled further, so slow that it was hard to see, but constant, unstoppable, inevitable. 

“What was your sin, Father Erding?” the demon said. Mixed in with its mirth and delight, there was something that could almost have been a touch of respect. “Look how it grows!” It moved its cock further down, rubbing it against the priest’s so that slime drooled along them both, and whenever one cock twitched away, they remained connected by strands of goo that stretched impossibly between them. “You’re in Knocker range, now, and still not done.”

Father Erding’s eyes were somewhere between open and closed, rolled back in his head. His chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. His belly stood out horribly. The button at the peak of the mound was doing far more work than it had been intended for. Hew couldn’t help but imagine the seamstress’s horror if she could see what her work was being forced to do now, trying to contain a sin that a human body could not. The white lining stood out wanly. The buttonhole was stretched far larger than it should have been. A few faint lines of tension fanned out from the edge. The priest’s belly pushed out further. It all seemed to rest on that button, now, that little bit of iron with a simple Greek cross cast into the face. If that gave out, the sin would be free to expand even further. And yet there it was, just hanging on, keeping together a coat that should have given out by now.

The thread holding the button on snapped, the button flew off, the coat split open there, allowing Father Erding’s belly to visibly surge outward another inch, with a faint, taut wobble as it settled into place, and Hew came so hard against the floor that it took him a while to realize what had happened. When his eyes came back into focus, he was overcome with horror. He’d spilled himself. He’d… somehow, he’d managed to spill his seed without touching himself, just by watching the torture of a respected priest. This was… awful.

Father Erding was only continuing the rosary periodically now. He seemed to need most of his breaths, and could only spare a few for prayer. His head had lolled to the side a little. He looked like a man barely alive. His belly… God, if it had been huge before, it was vast now, a woman well into pregnancy. Hew remembered that pregnant woman, helping her get dressed afterward, fondling her heavy tits as he did, how her skirt rested just below her breasts, draped over her belly like a sheet. Father Erding looked like her now, if she had been a thin, severe, pale, middle-aged man with a flat, bony chest instead of a pleasantly squeezable copper-skinned young woman with gorgeous, hanging breasts. He remembered the weight of that belly in his hands, and wondered if Father Erding’s felt the same on his hips. Heavy, full, warm… 

He thumped his forehead against the stone in an attempt to stop the thoughts, and immediately regretted it, but thankfully, neither Father Erding nor the demon seemed to be paying any attention to him. The demon was rubbing the base of its cock happily while continuing to drag the head all over the priest’s groin. A puddle of slick was beginning to form between the priest’s legs. 

“Beautiful,” the demon crowed. “Does it still please you so, Father Erding?” It lifted up its eagle-foot and rested it on the swollen belly, talons clinging to the tightening shirt. Father Erding shook, his hand pale-knuckled on his rosary, and made a small noise of pain. “Not as large as the largest I’ve got out of this little village, but a priest’s sin always carries a little extra flavor. I will enjoy eating you, priest, after you give me your sin. I may need to go hunting after, even. You are a bony little mortal.” It put its foot back down.

Father Erding pulled his rosary to his lips again and started muttering faster.

The shirt gave out much more easily, but the priest still grew visibly more pained as each button tried and failed to contain his sin. Eventually, the shirt joined the coat, split and spread to either side at the hips, but still straining a little at the top of his belly by his ribs, where it wasn’t large enough to break free. The skin was flushed dark, Hew could see it even in the dim red light, and it was strewn with marks of strain. Then, as he watched, it  _ throbbed.  _

Hew dug his fingers into the grooves between the stones of the floor. It had… hadn’t it? He wasn’t mad? Something had moved, surely. He watched, fascinated, but nothing more happened, even as the seconds turned to minutes and the priest’s belly swelled a little further, until, suddenly… 

It was more pronounced this time. A definite pulse, there, a spasm that passed across the stretched skin and tissue, accompanied by a harsh twist to Father Erding’s already-grimacing face. What was happening in there? Hew turned his head back to the sacs on the windows, wondering for the first time what was really in them. They pulsated, yes, they were alive, but he couldn’t see anything in them, no shadow like in an egg. Was it just fluid in there, womb water, or was it something more? What did sin look like in the world?

He heard a moan, and turned back quickly. It was Father Erding, he realized, his stomach sinking. The man was lying there, his teeth bared, eyes screwed shut, and he managed to stop the moan quickly, but not quickly enough for the demon.

“Ha!” the demon said. “Confessing your pain, Father Erding? As you should. You look like a woman full with child.”

He did, Hew realized. It was as big a belly as he’d ever seen on a pregnant woman. Surely it couldn’t grow much further. It couldn’t. It had to stop… He watched, utterly fascinated, as the priest’s belly trembled and pulsed out a little further.  _ Full…  _ It looked almost like it would fall to the side, but it was too tight, the skin holding too strong, for it to move that way. Hew had a strong desire to touch it, gently, of course, just give it a little push, see how much play there was. Would it feel like a too-full waterskin under his hands? Softer, harder? 

Father Erding’s navel suddenly popped out, becoming a little round bump at the peak of his belly, and Hew’s stomach clenched hot. There was still so much heat in his groin. He hadn’t felt like this since he was a teenager, really, for those awkward few years where he had to duck behind a hedge and rub himself to completion nearly as often as he had to piss. Why was this so damn… 

_ The demon,  _ he told himself firmly.  _ The demon’s influence is twisting your mind. It’s just another mind trap to get out of.  _ He thought of his sword, damaged but freshly sanctified, smelling of incense, and found his thoughts shifting right back to Father Erding’s growing belly.

“There,” the demon said. “You’re past _him—” _It jerked a clawed thumb at the largest sac on the rose window. “—and still growing. More than murder, priest? I’m impressed. It would take a vast amount of violent lust to outstrip a murderer, and it would have to be forbidden—but that’s simple for a priest, all your lust is forbidden. Rapes, several of them? But why limit yourself? Did you dabble in the other sins?” It nudged Father Erding’s belly. Hew stifled a cry as he saw the mound shift in response, wobbling heavily, veins visible beneath the skin as everything strained to hold itself together, and he felt his cock pulse under him, hard again and leaking. Father Erding’s cock was still hard, too, and it pressed up against his belly, now, against the thin trail of hair that fell short of his navel, which really looked like it could do with a squeeze, just a bit of a pinch. The whole priest could do with a squeeze. Hew could almost feel every part of the older man’s body under his fingers, narrow thighs, sharp shoulders, hard nipples—they had to be hard by now—aching cock, and of course vast, creaking belly, he’d wrap his arms around that and press his face into it and lick it and suck at the stretched skin while he ground their cocks together.

The belly pulsed again, but this time, something was different. Something  _ moved.  _

The demon grinned. “There we are, Father Erding, there we are. You’re coming closer to the end. Your sin has passed almost entirely into you. Soon, you’ll have to push it out. Then I will eat you, and add your beautiful, beautiful firstborn to my nest.”

Father Erding shook his head so slowly that it almost didn’t count. “No,” he mumbled, between rosaries. His body trembled, and his belly grew a little further. It was almost inhuman, now, that belly, would look big on a woman, and it looked huge on a man. So big, inches higher than Hew had ever seen a pregnant woman look.  _ You could fit two babies in there, _ he thought. And… God, it was  _ still getting bigger.  _

“That’s a Drainer,” the demon said. It had its cock fully in hand, now, both huge, horrible hands stroking and twisting. The ridiculous length of it drooled on Father Erding’s belly. “It’ll be a beautiful creature, sucking the life out of anything that comes close, once it’s finally born. I haven’t seen a priest make a Drainer in many years. I’m impressed, Father Erding. I’ll be more impressed if you can get it out of you without bursting. A weak little man like you, it’ll be very difficult. Nearly impossible.”

Father Erding’s eyes opened fully for the first time in a long while, and Hew was alarmed at the intensity of his glare. For a moment, he forgot his horrible arousal, and the red fog that filled his mind seemed a little lighter.

“Is that what you think?” the priest growled. His voice was heavy and tight with pain. “Is that what you believe, malfear?”

Malfear, that was right, the demon was a malfear. Not its name, but its type, and even knowing the breed of demon could give you a little power over it. How had Hew forgotten that?

“You believe this will be a Drainer? That a weak little man like me will struggle with it? Is that your judgement, after God knows how many centuries in Hell? All your time in the abyss, and you still underestimate your enemy so?” The priest’s eyes were strong, now, flashing properly, and Hew found himself hanging on every word. “Answer me, malfear!”

The malfear looked more surprised than anything else, but it sounded irritated. “I have had many human lifetimes of counting sins, priest. I know my trade better than you’ll ever know yours.”

“Then you’re a fool, malfear.” Father Erding raised the hand with the rosary a little higher, so that the cross hung as proudly as it could in such a place. “You’re a fool, and I will no longer hold back my sin.” His hand dropped to the floor, and he screamed.

His belly swelled hugely. It was coming in thick, fast pulses, now, inches at a time, and whatever was inside it thrashed with such obvious and furious wrath that Hew shrank back. It throbbed larger, larger, larger, the skin flushing darker with each pulse, and Hew could hear it creaking and protesting, just under the priest’s screams. Because he was screaming now, howling like a woman in labor as his belly grew until it was large enough for a small child to curl up in, wobbling and swaying dangerously, and then large enough for a sheep, and then a calf, and then, to Hew’s awe and horror, a man. And still it grew.

But it was over quickly after that. The pulses slowed, and then, finally, when the vast, taut belly looked like it contained several barrels’ worth of liquid, perched on Father Erding’s thin hips like a hugely overful sack, they stopped.

The malfear was on the floor. Hew hadn’t seen it happen, he’d been enraptured by the priest’s growth, but it was definitely on the floor now, crumpled up on its side on the stairs. After a moment, Hew saw that its cock was twitching, spilling out something that glowed in irregular pulses. Its mouth was open, its chest heaving, and it seemed thoroughly incapacitated. A long, dripping tongue lolled out of its mouth. For a while, everything was still. The only sounds were the sacs pulsing, the malfear hissing and coming, and Father Erding panting.\

Hew forced himself to move. He got himself up to his hands and knees first—he could feel his cock bobbing between his legs, still hard—and then gripped his sword and used it to lever himself to his feet. He was terribly shaky, and the air of the chapel seemed suffocating, but he stumbled over to Father Erding, lying pale and trembling on the floor. “What now?” he said, and was alarmed at the way his voice wobbled.

His question was answered immediately as the priest’s back arched and he groaned in pain. The huge, swollen belly throbbed once, and then again, and again and again, faster and faster, as if whatever was inside it was fighting to get out.

“Now it comes out,” Father Erding panted. His belly surged up and dropped again, and something twisted under the skin. One hand gripped the rosary, fingering the beads, but the other was gripping the stone of the floor, shaking, straining. “Now it comes out.” His free hand went between his legs, wrapped awkwardly around the side of his belly, and gripped the inside of a pale, narrow thigh, tugging as if trying to spread it. His back arched again in an unpleasant contortion. “It’s coming.” 

Hew dropped to his knees between the priest’s legs and pushed them further apart. God in heaven, he couldn’t even see over the top of Father Erding’s belly from this position. His cock twitched,  _ why was it doing that,  _ and he kept his hands on Father Erding’s thighs, as much to make sure that he didn’t touch himself as to help in whatever was going to happen. 

He’d never really lain with a man. A few fumbled encounters in haylofts and behind inns, but those had just been hands, nothing more. He’d never been between a man’s legs and gotten a real view like this. Hard cock, still pressed up against the curve of that vast belly, balls pulled up tight and close, taint, asshole. It was odd. He felt almost like he was looking at himself—he never had, had never even really thought about what he looked like down there, and now he was realizing that he had all these bits, too. He’d  _ known,  _ of course, but he hadn’t really known. He had an overwhelming urge to touch, explore, educate himself— 

Father Erding cried out in pain through clenched teeth as whatever was in his belly thrashed, and Hew snapped back. Sort of. He still couldn’t tear his eyes away, and he was vividly aware of his own cock, as hard as Father Erding’s still was. “I’m here, Father,” he said. He didn’t know what to do next. He’d never been present for a birth, or even been in the vicinity of one. You were supposed to tell them to push, weren’t you? But they already knew that, surely, which must mean that you were supposed to tell them _ when  _ to push, and Hew had no idea what that might mean, how to tell when they were supposed to push. 

Father Erding’s belly visibly compressed, as if something were pushing down on it from the top. It pushed further out at the sides. Something shifted under the skin at the base, right by his cock. Hew touched it instinctively, and it shoved back against his hand with horrible force, making Hew yank his hand back and Father Erding groan. But even without his hand there, the thing continued to press, as if searching for him.

“Not there,” Father Erding snarled. “Guide it down, out.” His back arched again, well off the stone floor.

Hew stared blankly for a moment. Where was it supposed to come out, anyway? Then he shook his head sharply in an attempt to clear it.  _ Idiot!  _ There was only one hole, unless the thing was planning on making its own. But how to guide it in the right direction? Was that its head, still ramming up against its confines? Did it even have a head? How was he supposed to show it where to go? He couldn’t very well reach inside and point it in the right direction. Oh, wait… 

“Sorry,” he said. Even with his mind all red and cloudy and stupid, he knew you weren’t supposed to touch someone’s asshole. But he had to. “Sorry, sorry.” He slipped a finger inside and wiggled it, trying to alert the thing. 

It reacted immediately. Father Erding howled as the sin began to move downward, hunting for Hew’s fingers. Hew added another finger. It was easier than he’d thought it would be, really. He’d never done anything with a girl’s other hole, as the main one suited him perfectly well, and they all seemed so reluctant to try it, but he’d heard that they were supposed to be very tight. Maybe men’s holes were looser. Whatever the reason, he suspected that Father Erding would be very grateful for the elasticity soon. He squeezed in a third and continued to wiggle, feeling absurdly as though he were baiting a kitten.

The thing continued to shift, Father Erding’s belly moving with it, and for a while, Hew felt that he wasn’t being of any help. The thing clearly didn’t know which way to go, and he was at a loss as to how to guide it any further. Then, quite suddenly, something hot and wet and  _ moving  _ touched his fingers, and he pulled them out with a sharp gasp. Even as he watched, the area around the priest’s hole began to pout out, as if there was something vast behind it, pressing outward. It kept going and going and going, protruding into a mound, until, at last, the hole opened a little, and Hew caught a glimpse of raw, vein-webbed flesh before it winked shut again. “I saw it!”

Father Erding was gasping in raspy, heaving breaths, clearly struggling, but he managed to speak. “I—” He bit back a sharp grunt. “Tell me when it comes. When to push.”

Hew had rather been dreading that. When were you supposed to push? How was he supposed to know? He put a hand to the bulge of the priest’s hole, hoping to feel something that would help. He had no idea, and for a while, he had nothing to say, was only uselessly cupping a tortured priest’s privates in silence, but then, quite suddenly, he felt something. A… squeeze, sort of, like Father Erding’s body was coaxing the sin out. “Push,” he said, not at all sure that he was right.

Father Erding gave a strained groan, and his hole pushed out even further and opened up again. Hew could see it again, the horrible sac inside, and he watched as it emerged, little by little, spreading the hole until the ring of it was all smooth and taut. Then the push stopped, and it all went slamming back, hole closing and shifting back into place, to a lurch and a grunt of pain from the priest. Hew followed it with his hand, a divot now rather than a bulge, feeling for the next push. It came quickly. “Push.”

He could hear the strain when the priest obliged, muscles clamping down to try and squeeze out the intruder, and his hole bulged out against his fingers again. It opened up, just as round and stretched as it had been the first time, revealing the sac, so large that the curve of it was almost flat, a round disc of flesh two inches across that Hew couldn’t help but put a finger to. It was hot and wet, and a little slime dripped from it. Then Father Erding released the push, and it fell right back into place again, which seemed very painful. But the priest’s cock was hard as ever.

“You have to push longer,” Hew said. “It’s not going to come out like that.” He kept his finger in place, feeling for the next one. “Push.”

Father Erding did it again, another great heave. His shoulders lifted off the floor a little with the strength of his push, but the thing looked just the same, a huge bulge inside with no way to fit through a hole of that size. The groan when he released the push this time sounded on the verge of a sob. “It doesn’t fit,” he panted.

“It’ll fit,” Hew said firmly. The alternative was too horrible to contemplate. “I’ll help.” He hesitated briefly, then pushed in two fingers from each hand. When he felt the squeeze coming, he said, “Push.” Father Erding did, and he spread his fingers apart, trying to be gentle but knowing that there was no room for gentleness here.

With his fingers there to help, Father Erding’s hole spread much wider, stretching until the priest cried out. The sac rubbed up against his fingers, and he could now see the curve of it, at least, but when the push gave out, it fell back again, and Father Erding lurched as though he had been stabbed.  _ “God!”  _

Hew shuddered. “Push,” he insisted, working his fingers further in, forcing in another one on the left, “push.” The moment he felt the priest squeeze against him, he pulled with all the strength he dared. 

It came out a little further this time. The round dome of the tip of the sac stuck out perhaps half an inch from the taut ring of the priest’s hole, and Hew very nearly celebrated, but then it was over, sucked back like a cannonball, yanking his fingers with it. 

“Wider,” Father Erding groaned. There was no doubt in Hew’s mind as to what that meant, and he pushed in a third finger from his right hand and pulled. The priest spasmed. His hole was being stretched huge, obscene, ridiculous, almost as absurd as the demon’s cock, and it would have to be stretched further.

“Push.”

This time, the sac came out a full inch. Hew tried to get a grip on it and pull it out, but it was slick and round and his fingers wouldn’t catch. The next push saw an inch and a half, but the one after that saw a bare half-inch again.

“You have to push more,” Hew said. He was kneeling there, six fingers and one thumb in a priest’s asshole, cock hard as a rock, telling the man that  _ he  _ was doing it wrong. “You have to. It’s never going to come out otherwise. You have to push.”

Father Erding started to say something angry, but then the next squeeze came, and he threw himself into the push. To Hew’s astonishment, the sac pushed out, an inch, an inch and a half, two inches, two and a half, the round, fleshy dome protruding further and further, surely it had to come out soon… 

It dropped back again.

“Again,” Hew said. He couldn’t afford to lose hope. There was only one exit for this  _ thing,  _ and if it wouldn’t come out, the priest would never make it out of the chapel. “Push!”

The priest didn’t push until halfway through his body’s squeeze, but when he did, it was with as much force as his first. The sac pushed out, and out, and out, two inches,  _ three,  _ far enough that a bit of its slick dripped onto the floor. Then the body’s squeeze stopped, but the priest didn’t, and then, beautifully, gorgeously, six more inches pushed out, and when the push stopped, only one of them slipped back in. 

Hew could have cried. He put a hand on the sac. It was quite hot, at once firm and oddly squishy, as if it were overfull with fluid. The web of tiny veins spanning out across it pulsed regularly, and slick poured off of it like blood from a wound. It was not really round, as he had expected, but shifted like a waterskin. He could lift and squeeze it into a tube inches across, but dropped, it sagged back a little. It  _ was  _ full of fluid, he decided, a long, thin sac of liquid, and judging by the look of Father Erding’s vast belly, there were feet of it yet to go.

Father Erding seemed hardly aware, but when the next squeeze came and Hew told him to push, he did. Hew tried to help, tugging on the sac, but it was hideously slippery, and he was afraid of rupturing it. Whatever a demon’s womb-water was, it couldn’t be good. He helped the priest force out a few more inches. As it came out, he was surprised to see that rather than staying roughly a tube, the sac grew shorter and wider, slowly sliding back into what must have been its original shape. 

It seemed to go on forever. By the time Father Erding’s belly had been reduced by half, Hew was covered with splattered slick, and the sac was perhaps two feet long and one across. It pulsed occasionally, but the pulses seemed to be getting rarer and rarer, and whatever had been thrashing while it was still inside was no longer moving. Hew was starting to get a little bolder in his attempts to help pull it out, but the thing still felt on the verge of bursting, and he didn’t dare squeeze too hard.

It was slow. Each push produced an inch or two, now that a large mass was out, but Father Erding was clearly exhausted, and his body’s squeezes were growing shorter, weaker, and less frequent. He still responded to Hew’s instructions to push, but he did so weakly, sometimes little more than a few moments of pushing, which hardly did anything at all. Still, the grip that Hew could get on the thing helped, and he could make up for the priest’s weakness a little.

He had thought that they would grow less hard. The mockery of birth was stressful, frightening, and obviously very painful for the priest. But there was something in the air of the defiled chapel that kept Hew’s thoughts coming back to things he didn’t want to think about. At first it was just tits, cunts, heated memories of fucks he’d had making his cock twitch and leak, but stranger and stranger images kept pushing into his mind. Asses, men’s asses, wet with slick, men screaming and clutching their sweaty, swollen bellies while he fucked them, men moaning atop him while their heavy, milky tits bounced, men wailing as his cock grew inside of them, fat and heavy like the demon’s vast member… He didn’t know what visions were with Father Erding, and his mind was too fogged for him to really care, but they were keeping the older man just as hard. Even the pushes were keeping Hew’s cock stiff. He kept a hand at the priest’s rim, ready to feel the squeeze and give the instruction, and he found his head coming closer and closer to the diminished, but still huge, belly. Before long he had the side of his face pressed against it, and he was nuzzling it and kissing it and licking the sweat off of it while Father Erding’s ass strained at his fingers. It was so hot and wet and taut and firm against his cheek, and he sucked marks into it and felt his cock pulse.

Then, after what could have been minutes or years, it seemed that quite suddenly, Father Erding’s belly was nearly flat. Only a small bulge remained, and the angry flush had largely faded from it. It was gorgeous. Hew kissed it. It twitched under the skin, and he set to licking it to soothe it. He was lying on the priest’s leg. The sac pulsed weakly against his side, but he ignored it. Father Erding’s cock throbbed much more strongly against his shoulder, and he took that in hand without thought. He wanted to say something about how absolutely, drunkenly lustful he was feeling, how beautiful even this little belly was, how nice a cock felt in his hand, how much he wanted to hear the man scream and moan, but all that came out was a wordless groan. “Push,” he mumbled into that beautiful belly, unsure why he was saying it. 

Father Erding did push. The push went on and on and on, and then it stopped, and slick poured out of his gaping hole. Hew loosely realized that that meant it was over. The belly beneath his lips slowly flattened, and as he buried his face in it, it dropped further. He sucked another mark into the skin.

“Get up.”

It took Hew a while to process the words. When he did, it was only vaguely, but he did as instructed. He was soaked, he realized, with sweat and slick and something else. When he looked down, he was vaguely confused to see that he appeared to be pissing… only, no, not piss. White and thick, and… was he spilling himself? He didn’t feel like he was, not really, and no cock had ever come like that, in a constant stream, on and on and on, and he put a hand to himself and groaned, maybe he  _ was  _ coming, all he could think about was fucking. 

“Boy!” Father Erding snarled, and some distant part of Hew’s mind started to pay attention. “Your sword. Where is it?”

That distant part of his mind was suddenly filled with terror. This wasn’t… this wasn’t a safe place. There was something very bad about it. It wasn’t supposed to look like this. Most of his mind was still occupied with his constantly-spilling cock, but that part of him was trying to think about his sword. Real steel, not good steel but serviceable, and it’d just been sanctified, and he’d dropped it somewhere… 

More of his mind lurched back into action at the thought of a sanctification. He could really feel himself coming now, it  _ was  _ a climax, a never-ending one, and it was fighting him desperately, oh, God, it was so good, he was so hard. He took a step, managed to avoid tripping over the man-sized sac, and nearly fell anyway. Oh, God, he was still coming. But he was starting to remember. The chapel, it had been infested, that was what he was here for. He was here to drive out the infestation. What had it been? They’d come looking for Biters, but he didn’t see any.

_ Malfear!  _ The thought ran through him like steel, and he nearly collapsed as his climax continued to pummel him. He could feel again, was aware of his soaked clothes and how hot and wet he was, and how  _ unh  _ his cock was pulsing every few seconds with yet another spurt of seed, but he was afraid, because there was a demon to end all demons somewhere  _ oh God it was in the room with him. _

He saw it. It was on the steps, coming like he was, constantly, and his heart sank into his gut at the sight of that monstrosity. It opened its eyes, glowing with faraway light, and snarled at him weakly. “Mortal,” it growled. “I will eat you.”

“You won’t.” Hew turned to see, and saw Father Erding, propped up on his elbows, his rosary clutched in one hand. “Boy, get your sword.”

“You can do what you will,” the malfear sighed. Its jaw twisted into a smile. “I will have you, Father Erding. Even if you cast me out now, even if you kill your beautiful firstborn, I will have you. No man with such sin can escape Hell. You will die one day, and when that day comes, I will eat you, and raise your sin as a count. He will be my lieutenant, Father Erding, I will make it so. You will be eaten, but your sin will dwell with me in Hell for all the ages of the world and beyond.”

Hew drove his sword through its vast chest.

The malfear groaned as if it had been punched rather than stabbed. It spat a flaming gob at Hew, but it missed, and Hew staggered back, leaving his sword in place like a nail through a notice. Glowing blood dripped down the malfear’s chest, and the sanctified steel smoked. He turned as quickly as he could, cock still jetting out seed, though more slowly now, and dragged himself to Father Erding. He grabbed the priest around the chest and heaved him up. The man wasn’t heavy, but Hew was exhausted, and it was a long while before he managed to get both of them out of the chapel. Then he fell on his side on the path and hoped that someone else would take care of things.

The chapel doors closed behind him, and he suddenly felt much clearer. He came once more, so hard it hurt, and then it was over. His mind was still a little fogged with lust and exhaustion, but it wasn’t like it had been. He could think now, more or less.

He pulled himself up to a sitting position and saw Father Erding leaning on the doorframe. “Bring me a bough,” the priest croaked. “And… my pack. Holy water.”

Hew got to his feet, somehow or other, and made it to the sacred tree in the corner of the churchyard. He muttered the customary prayer—it was in the priests’ language, and he had no idea what it meant, but it was one of a number that he had memorized—and stripped off a supple twig. He handed it to Father Erding before dropping to his knees on the path and going through the pack. The holy water was in a silver flask at the bottom, and he felt his head clear a little further as he handled it.

Father Erding uncorked the flask and began to paint the chapel door with the water, murmuring a long and complex prayer as he did so. When he had covered every inch of the door in signs, he poured a little water over the twig, looped it through the door handles, tied it into a wreath, and crossed himself three times. Then he collapsed.

It took him a little while, but Hew eventually worked himself up to the prospect of picking up Father Erding. He swung the priest’s pack over one shoulder and his own over the other, and then crouched and heaved the man over his shoulders. The walk down to the chapel gate seemed interminable, a thousand miles long, but somehow, he made it there, opened it, passed through, and latched it behind him.

He felt at once stronger and weaker once out of the churchyard. His senses were much clearer, at least. That meant that he could feel his exhaustion that much more strongly, and that he was vividly aware of the fact that he was standing in a lane with two packs and an unconscious priest, both of them soaked to the skin with sweat, seed, and demonic fluids, and both of them with their cocks out, but he also felt more in control of himself.  _ I can do this.  _

The aura in the village was much cleaner now. When he dumped Father Erding on the edge of the washpond and waded in, it was almost relaxing. Clean water, more or less. It got the gunk off of him, anyway. He took off his breastplate and clothes in the water and dumped them near the edge, where they could soak, and walked in up to his waist. Then he remembered his hands.

They didn’t look good. They weren’t as… gooey as they had been, but they were still clearly burned or cursed or some combination of the two. They didn’t hurt, not really, just a dull ache, but he couldn’t feel much with them, either, and they were stiff, like he was wearing thick gloves. He wiped himself off with them, as gently as he could, trying not to disturb whatever sort of scab or protective layer had formed, and when he got out of the pond, he wrapped them in rags.

Father Erding wasn’t awake yet, but Hew wasn’t willing to wait. He stripped the priest’s clothes and shoes off, pulled him into the water, and rubbed him more or less clean. By the time he was wiping the drying, caked slime out of their hair, the priest was starting to wake up. 

At first it was just mumbles, but then his eyes opened, and Hew helped him get his feet under him. Father Erding splashed water on his face and swept his hair back. “We have to leave.”

“I can’t,” Hew said simply. He wasn’t at all sure he could walk as far as the pub right now, let alone out of the village.

“We have to.” Father Erding strode out of the pond—Hew was gratified to see that he staggered a little—and began to pull on his wet, ruined clothes.

“It’s three days’ walk,” Hew said. “We won’t make it.”

“We have to,” the priest repeated. “That’s a malfear. It’s weakened, and your sword and my barrier will hold it a little while, but we need a dozen good priests to finish it off, two dozen if we can get them. We have to get back to the city and send out riders.”

“I  _ can’t,”  _ Hew insisted. “I can’t walk half a mile, certainly not further.”

“You will.” Father Erding pulled his shirt out of the pond and tossed it to him. “We both will, and without delay. The longer it takes for us to get there, the more likely it is that the malfear escapes and consumes another village. It’ll start spawning again, and grow stronger. Left unchecked, it will eat the world. Now  _ move.” _

Hew managed to raise his arms over his head and put on the shirt. He stood there, in the pond, dripping, trembling, bone-tired, thinking about a three-day walk in wet clothes, and thought he would rather die than move from this spot. Then he took off the shirt and draped it over his shoulders. “No point wearing wet clothes,” he said. He put on his boots, arranged the rest of his clothes across his arms to dry as best he could, and buckled his breastplate to his pack. Normally, his nudity would have embarrassed the hell out of him, but with Father Erding, at least, he was well beyond that.

Father Erding considered, then nodded and pulled off his damaged coat and destroyed trousers. The coat, heavy wool and lined besides, would take ages to dry, and the priest tied it into a bundle and roped it to his pack rather than try to dry it, but he put his shirt and trousers over his shoulders. “Best hope no one sees us before these dry,” he said, almost wryly. Then his face went stony cold. “I will tell no one of your failures if you tell no one of mine.”

Something icy settled in Hew’s gut. He hadn’t thought about it yet, but even the malfear had been impressed and exhausted by Father Erding’s sin. The man must have done something truly monstrous. But he’d sinned too, hadn’t he? And the demon had trapped him so easily, and it was his fumbling attempts at fighting it that had gotten them stuck in there in the first place. No, he couldn’t have that spread. He nodded.

“Good,” Father Erding said. He gestured at the road and said, “Shall we?” as if they were out for a relaxing stroll.

Hew managed a tiny smile, and they set out on their long walk.

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I might have a bit of a priest kink, so I decided to write something and see if I really do, and it turns out yeah, I really do have a priest kink.


End file.
